


Drag Me Down Into Your Sins, Love.

by ChefFanfictious



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Blood, F/M, Heavy BDSM, Mutilation, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 09:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14077878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChefFanfictious/pseuds/ChefFanfictious
Summary: Inspired by Hozier’s lyrics for Take Me To Church. A take of a madness inflicted Stein under the care of Medusa, who indulges his dark urges to further feed into the insanity.





	Drag Me Down Into Your Sins, Love.

“Alright, boy.  _Kill_.”

In an instant, Stein was upon the ‘specimen’ that Medusa had acquired for him, scalpel in hand and urgent desire in his eyes. He wiped his mouth, salivating at the opportunity to slice up a fresh body after weeks of subtlety. Necessary for cover, she told him, but it hurt waiting so long between urges to satisfy the maddening voice in his head. The person on the table was bound by the witch’s vectors, gagged with their own sock that was balled up and shoved into their mouth earlier while in mid-scream. They were just an average human, dirt brown hair and murky green eyes on a plain face of no real description. Average height, average weight, average build, it was so  _disgustingly_ average. 

He wanted to change that.

Stein roughly yanked out the filthy footwear, the room now filled with loud gasping and hoarse screams for help that uselessly bounce off of cold, dead walls. The words were mute to the doctor, the letters and sounds of them having volume but no discernible meaning, only playing as a white noise background to the symphony of insanity playing in his mind. Slowly and methodically, he pressed the instrument against their skin, dragging the razor sharp blade downwards from the base of their left ear downward along the jaw, up at the chin, and towards the left eye while passing along the side of the nose. More screams, louder animalistic shouts of pain that mean nothing to Stein’s deaf ears. Blood dripped slowly and steadily from the cuts, falling across the flesh and off onto the table where it puddled into small crimson pools.

Medusa sat by on a makeshift stool of rubble, smiling ear-to-ear as she watched her darling doctor transform the poor fool into one of Stein’s beautiful projects. He was like a mad sculptor, taking the ugly slabs of flesh and chiseling them into a glorious image with his own two hands. And some instruments, of course. What’s a sculptor without their chisel? The witch giggled lightly as his performance was closing, the human having screamed their throat raw and rendering their voice down to nothing but weak pantomimes of words. Their face was rearranged and dismantled in a way that a philistine would explain as 'grotesque’, 'gruesome’, or 'an abomination’. But only the two of them knew that it was pure art, the blank slate of averageness sliced and stitched into a magnificent piece. With his ritual of satiety done, Medusa stood and brushed off the long fabric of her cloak.

“Come, love. It’s time for us to return home and rest.”

He panted heavily, a mixture of primal pleasure and the hunger for more. But he nodded, taking her hand with a maniacal grin, almost too painful for his face as it strained. 

“Yes, love.”

In a blink, they disappeared, swallowed up in a cocoon of vector arrows and transported back to the hidden lair she set up. Stein followed as she pulled him towards the bed chambers, shoulders heaving still from the surge of excitement earlier. Rituals done, blood spent for the cause in his mad mind, the last thing left was to retreat into their sanctum, their church. 

It was time for prayer.

Stripping down to just underwear, Stein layed upon his back on the black satin draped bed. His breathing has slowed back down to a somewhat calm manner, the strained, manic grin eased into a relaxed cheshire smile. The witch stood by, pulling a surgical table of different instruments to her. Each one was sharpened accordingly, from a point sharp enough to pierce thick leather, to razors that can apply paper thin slices. He shook, ecstatic and eager for confession. “Shall I start with my sins? Or will we make this a forced confessional?”

“Today, you get to work for your praise. Tell me your sins.” Medusa lifted a leather cat o’ nine tails, the metal bits clattering against each other as the strips of tanned hide shifted. The muscles in his body twitched excitedly in reflex to the sound. Stein then went on, spilling every sin he committed, even if it was what he was told to do. Murders, mutilations, violence, so much blood spilled by his two hands. For each confession, the witch applied a sharp snap of the whip, the bladed metal bits biting into his flesh of his chest and abdomen, causing blood to well up in the wounds. After the fifteenth lash, she stopped, leaving him quivering and breathing heavily with pure ecstasy. She tossed the instrument aside and crawled over to him, dragging her nails across his leg gently upwards to his ragged torso. “Now, let your goddess gift you for your deeds.”

Her tongue traced gingerly between the open wounds that peppered his flesh, picking up drops of blood to sate her hunger for him. The soft, warm flesh of the muscle made him flinch, small pings of pain echoing as it hit the exposed parts of muscle tissue, but settling into joyful pleasure immediately after. Blood was smeared across Medusa’s lips, mixed with saliva that applied a glossy shine. Like a sloppy application of lipstick put on hastily but still sensual in its own way. Stein lifted himself and kissed the witch, allowing her tongue to transfer the metallic tinge to his own. 

This is wrong, his sanity would scream, this is filthy and disgusting and just absolutely wrong. He knew this, he always knew this. Since he first spilled blood as a child, this was not the right thing at all. But in the end, it didn’t matter. Of course he was sick, but this sickness was joy, happiness, bliss. The witch, his goddess, his love, curled up beside him with a hand placed on his chest, already healing up from the vicious present. As he laid there, staring at her lightly blood coated face, he knew that this was utter madness, completely wrong in every single way. 

Stein absolutely loved this.


End file.
